


Trust and Misdirection

by Sotano



Series: Krakoa is for two very specific mutants [5]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Dawn of X, House of X/Powers of X, M/M, let's charitably call it international relations, more of a sort of vague backroom deal covered by the thin veneer of Magneto kicking up a fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sotano/pseuds/Sotano
Summary: A gala at the French Ambassador's residence. The most important room in the world; for the next couple hours at least. Of course,someonehad to have invited the Krakoans.A diplomatic ball is somewhat interrupted. Takes place in an unspecified time during HoX/Dawn of X.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Krakoa is for two very specific mutants [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819501
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21





	Trust and Misdirection

**Author's Note:**

> Sorta wrote this to give the universe a bit of scale tbh, it's kind of an experiment in how well House of X Prof/Magneto holds up to a view from the outside.

A gala was in full swing in Washington. Not one of the charity ones; tucked into odd corners of the city and poorly-lit hotels. The French Ambassador's residence; a palace within the capital; was playing host to some of the most important interests in the country, and thus the world. Most of the G7 leaders were in attendance; having spent the week at Camp David elsewhere in the country; and quite a few heads of state made the trip almost entirely for this event. Every continent represented robustly; just looking around the room was an education in the state of international relations. Who was isolated? Who ran in which circles? Which leaders were not where they might be expected? Where were their ambassadors, their entourages?

The room was buzzing, as well, with idle gossip about the various crises of the past year. The Vision; the Avengers' go-to Washington liaison, was swarmed; swamped with questions about the recent developments in Kree-Skrull relations. They'd sent backup in the form of She-Hulk; a legal expert and a bit more intimidating than the poor overworked Vision.

"It's a damn mess," muttered the American Department of Defense Secretary; a large middle aged man with a bourbon well to hand. It was still early in the night, but many of the Americans were feeling a little superfluous, with their President in attendance, and frankly, with the increasing isolation of the United States in the eyes of the international community. They simply weren't the hot commodity they'd been ten, even five years ago. "When did the Avengers start undercutting us? I can't tell if they're doing my job for me or dooming us all."  
"Tell it to the President," the Secretary of State replied, terse. He'd tried several times, himself. He was significantly older than his portly colleague, and considered himself wiser for it.  
"Everyone looks like they're plotting something. I don't know who we should be concerned about first. I mean, _Staten Island_ , for Christ's sake. I had a second house out there. There was a time when the idea of US soil being taken out from under us was madness."  
"What about you," the Secretary of State asked, gesturing to the young man stood next to them, watching the crowd hesitantly. "What's the intelligence community's take on the super types right now?"  
"Forget that," the Defense Secretary said. "Who should we be more worried about: the aliens, or the fact that the Russian delegation have stopped talking to us?"

"The CIA isn't in the business of picking horses," the young man said. His black hair was slick, swept to the side, professional. He was young, but considered a rising star. And he had those... _connections_ , ones that men in Washington used to never talk about. Ones that were back on the rise. The Secretary of State was a wary friend of this young man's shadowy backers; of what little of their agenda he understood. "But if I were a betting man, I'd say this is the new normal. Everything you've described, everything we're seeing here tonight. They're the symptoms, not the disease itself. And it's the same disease."

The two cabinet members exchanged a look. The young man, Reilly Marshall, surveyed the crowd. Men in suits and women in gowns; a gorgeous ballroom filled to the brim with music, chatter and tension. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. Marshall sighed, grimace affixed to his face. Heads turned towards the main entrance out to the atrium.

"You asked me who should concern you most? Well, there's your answer, Mister Secretary. Take a good look," Marshall said, gesturing with his drink to the entrance and then downing it. "The Krakoans have arrived."

Charles Xavier, in a black suit and that ridiculous headgear, was flanked on either side by more mutants. Two former international terrorists, a former host of a world-ending threat, a Goddess, a merchant queen, and a Professor walk into a ballroom, the Secretary of State thought to himself. His colleague; the Defense Secretary; didn't recognize all of them immediately.

"That's a big delegation," he said instead. "Almost the size of some of the small countries."  
"That's very possibly the richest man on Earth," the Secretary of State replied, gesturing at the Professor. "And he's brought maybe half the men Boeing did."  
"Three times the _women_ , though. Plus, I guess travel isn't an issue," the Defense Secretary mused, eyes trailing. "Do they have a gate in the capital?"  
"By the basin," the Secretary of State answered distractedly. "Headed the other way from the traffic, to get here. So why'd they arrive three hours late?"

Still, their late entrance had secured the limelight. Xavier went out of his way to greet the Wakandan ambassador; which made sense. The only country friendly to mutants which had yet to accept their miracle cures. The only non-mutant-led country to back the UN resolution declaring a mutant nation, when Jean Grey had demanded it a few years ago. And Atlantis didn't send people to things like this. They exchanged a friendly handshake, and suddenly the mutant group seemed to melt away.

The Secretary of State had only seen it once before; after Xavier's address to the UN General Assembly, when all the mutants suddenly began to close ranks. They were communicating telepathically, and they'd just now agreed to mingle. The result was a little... what was the word? The one his younger aide assured him he was still allowed to use? Uncanny. Lehnsherr's gaze swept the room, narrowing at Reilly Marshall for only a moment, and the kid's face drained of blood. Interesting. What did the Krakoans know about him? Probably more than the Secretary of State, who was as yet still unsure if Marshall was Hydra or something quieter; something more explicitly mutant-focused. Lehnsherr seemed unfazed; even perhaps a little pleased.

"What are they doing, now?" the Defense Secretary asked. So even he'd noticed. He'd tapped one of his aides on the shoulder, pulling them away from the bar. "Who's the young lady?"  
The Secretary of State sighed. The aide, nervous, almost as young as Marshall, gave the oblivious Secretary the abbreviated rundown.  
"To the right, Emma Frost. She runs the Hellfire Trading Company, which procures and ships the three mutant drugs. She's with Ororo Munroe, former X-Man, former first lady of Wakanda. The red-haired woman with the red-glasses man is Jean Grey; considered to be one of the three strongest telepaths on Earth."  
The Defense Secretary harrumphed. Unbelievable, he'd really had no idea who that woman was. And the word telepath for old men like him probably didn't conjure up the right image. His beady eyes watched her. So this is who I've been sidelined for at cabinet meetings, the Secretary of State thought ruefully. The aide seemed to think he didn't have the full picture, though, so after a moment he continued.

"The man with her is Scott Summers; former founder of Mutopia. He spent about a half decade on the FBI's most wanted list. Both of them were hosts to the Phoenix. Professor Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are co-founders of Krakoa. Lehnsherr is a notorious terrorist. Until last year's Krakoan amnesty, he'd been on and off the top spot on that FBI list for something like six decades."

"I know who _they_ are, damn it," the portly man said, drink quaking in his fist. "I was against trusting those Phoenix bastards from the start. Summers and the blondie. Helped make my name, you know."  
"The first family of mutantdom," the Secretary of State mused. "And two of them can hear all the disgusting things we're thinking about them all. I'd leave them alone, if I were you, Bill."

It didn't help that they were all gorgeous. The Secretary of State was reminded of the European soirees of twenty or thirty years ago where the Northern African strongmen would be flanked on all sides by women; occasionally armed, always beautiful. Of course, everyone more or less knew Xavier wasn't sleeping with any of the _women_ on Krakoa. Knowing that irrationally made the display more aggravating to the Secretary of State. Lehnsherr's presence at Xavier's side in what was undoubtedly the most important room in the world was enough of an affront without having to think about what they got up to. Internally, the Secretary of State cursed himself for thinking it, but he imagined many of his colleagues were doing the same. If not _worse_ , he thought, watching the lecherous expression on the Defense Secretary's face as his eyes trailed Grey. Indeed, Frost's head swiveled, and she had the gall to grin knowingly at the British PM.

It was worse than that, too. Each one of them could kill everyone in this room without coming anywhere close to breaking a sweat. With the possible exception of Scott Summers, who would at the very least have to swivel his head. And they wonder why everyone hates them, the Secretary of State thought. They'd split off in pairs; it was fairly clear what each were trying to do. Frost and Munroe were handling business interests; Summers and Grey were doing surveillance; Lehnsherr and Xavier were good cop, bad cop for the heads of state in attendance. The Secretary of State put his glass down, straightening his suit out.

"Where are you going?" his colleague asked.  
"I'm a diplomat," the Secretary of State replied. "Where the hell do you think I'm going?"  
Marshall had disappeared sometime during the aide's commentary.  
"Not much use for diplomacy, here, Jack," the Defense Secretary said. The first clever thing he'd said all evening.

Charles was in the middle of what felt like a six-way discussion about the various problems states had been having with drug shipments, supply restrictions, and the sudden drain of mutants in communities where, it turned out, their powers had been critical. He could only say that business interests were Emma Frost's department so many times before he lost his mind. But, of course, that was why Emma had brought Erik and Charles. Misdirection: a room full of men assumed they would be met with more men. Emma had successfully foisted all of the petty, minor diplomatic problems onto Charles and Erik, leaving her free to roam; pick out the actually important conversations that needed to happen. Erik had been scouting the room; superfluous since Charles' brain wasn't dead, but it had its aesthetical advantages. And it meant that Charles got to feel the distaste when Erik spotted Vision. They steered clear of the Avengers, leaving it to Jean.

"Secretary of State's making his way over," Erik whispered in his ear. "One of yours."

He could have done it telepathically, but Erik loved any excuse to be in Charles' personal space when he shouldn't be. A slightly unsurprising contradiction: Erik hated being public, but loved rubbing people the wrong way.  
Charles just smiled noncommittally towards the side where Erik was leaning in, as Erik was forced to watch his own reflection in the Cerebro helmet.  
* _Watch yourself,_ * Erik continued in his head. * _Just because he's less of a moron, doesn't mean he's less racist than the others in the cabinet._ *  
* _Of all people, surely I don't need any reminders that men aren't necessarily what they present themselves to be? Did you catch Marshall ducking out for the night?_ *  
* _Tail between his legs? Yes. What an odd position to be in: virulently hateful of mutants but fearful of losing your job if you report to your anti-mutant organization that Charles Xavier used you for sabotage._ *  
Charles was having a hard time working up sympathy for the young man; especially since so long as he kept his mouth shut he'd probably be risen through the ranks fast enough to make a man's head spin. Orchis needed people high up, and it needed them _yesterday_.

"Mr. Xavier," the foreign minister for Singapore said insistently. "You are asking for quite a lot of trust. These things take time."  
What was that rhyme of Erik's? The German one. Tomorrow, tomorrow, not today? He felt Erik's amusement in his head.  
* _So my German could use some work,_ * Charles said. * _We can't all be natural polyglots like you._ *  
* _Surely a telepath should be able to pick up a little thing like an accent, after however many godforsaken years,_ * Magneto said, and Charles picked up the teasing grin.  
German was a weak point for Charles, whose education featured French and whose powers theoretically allowed him to understand and mimic any language.

"Mutants have waited their turn for decades," Erik interceded. "You forget that you've also asked quite a lot of us."  
"Still," the American Secretary of State said, cutting into the conversation. Confident he didn't need an introduction. And indeed he didn't; he was the man whose brain had been blaring * _those-two-men-are-fucking-and-I-somehow-find-that-more-unnatural-than-the-superpowers_ * not ten minutes ago. "There's something to what my counterpart is saying. Trust is built over time."  
"And time, like anything, is a resource," Charles said, turning his attention to the American. "I'm perfectly willing to accept a loss in time, but only if your countries feel willing to accept a corresponding loss in resources."  
"So, what are you saying? That we've got no right to voice concerns?" the Foreign Secretary asked, frowning.  
"I think he's saying that the only country in this room Krakoa has normal relations with, given its youth, is Wakanda."  
The only country that could afford to wait and see. Erik smiled into his champagne glass. Charles tilted his head. It was true, but Charles could take another meaning as well.  
"I'm saying trust is a two way street, and we have our own misgivings we cannot act on if we are to do business with the people in this room."

"The fact that you're in this room to begin with is evidence, you'd think, of a serious degree of trust," the Secretary of State countered. Charles remained entirely unaffected by the insinuation that the humans had a right to be afraid of him and his powers, but Erik barked out a laugh.  
"Don't conflate trust and desperation," he said.  
And the fact that _he's_ in this room is evidence of lunacy, the Secretary of State thought. Charles picked up on it, but he got the sense that he was rather meant to.  
Most of the diplomats didn't really know what to make of Erik's decidedly tactless approach, which was honestly a useful tool. They were even _grateful_ when Charles changed the topic away from what they'd wanted to discuss in the first place.  
"I've been in this room before, Mr. Kinney. I gave a speech here some, oh, fifteen, twenty years ago. Quite a lot has changed, since then. Today, for one, I didn't have to use the frankly abysmal disability services."  
A sort of polite, relieved laughter tittered. It wasn't funny, of course, but then, none of these people had senses of humor.

* _How many times are you going to have the same thinly veiled conversation with the humans until we get left alone?_ * Erik asked in his head, as the conversation went on.

Or, at least, as Charles carried the conversation on. Erik was openly goading the American Secretary of State. Grinning into expensive champagne in his all-white; he could have been mistaken for a Hollywood actor who'd waltzed into the wrong party. Charles' crowd-playing and the casual morbid curiosity around mutants and Krakoa attracted quite a crowd to them, and the ones that weren't within listening distance of the Krakoans were watching Jean and Scott engage the Ambassador's wife and the French first lady in a lively conversation about youth education Charles knew he'd _much_ rather be in. That was, until Erik tugged at the final thread of the American supposed top diplomat.

"And how does dual citizenship work for the Krakoans? Are you, for example, a citizen of the United States and Krakoa?" the Indian cultural attaché asked. Charles knew a cousin of his was mutant, he'd skimmed it from his thoughts.  
"For the moment," Charles said, nodding. "Unless," he joked, to the side of the Secretary of State, "you've got some paperwork in the pipeline to kick me out."  
"Don't joke, Charles," Erik said. "They tried to revoke Storm's citizenship when she became Wakandan."  
An uneasy laugh from the crowd. Everyone remembered watching the news that day, seeing Storm on the White House lawn, being attacked by a Sentinel piloted by an Avenger. These kinds of optics tended to stick with foreign service types.  
"And you? I'm sorry, I can't place your accent, and I am unable to recall--are you not German?" the Indian attaché inquired of Magneto. The German minister to his right grimaced.  
"Stateless, actually, until Krakoa. Germany renounced its custodianship of me so that I could be tried and hanged in international courts without a jury."

A dead silence fell over a good quarter of the ballroom. Magneto had said it with such a breezy quality, as if he were discussing the excellent caviar, or the fun and exciting international quirks of new nationbuilding as Charles had been. The poor Indian attaché looked aghast.

"I was at your trials, you know," the Secretary of State said suddenly. "Both of them. I was part of the US delegation to the UN at the time. Just an aide, but still."  
"You've done well for yourself," Magneto said, smiling in a menacing approximation of politeness. Some conversation felt steady enough to start back up, when the Secretary of State laughed diplomatically.  
"So have you," he said, gesturing around. For a moment, it looked like that might be it, and then the human frowned. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened again. "You know, I really thought we'd nail you; our team. Of course, losing that case twice broke the ICJ. Consigned them to their fate in the wastebin of history; I mean, if they couldn't be trusted to condemn _you_ , well... Tell me, how'd you cheat?"

" _Excuse me_?" Charles demanded, and the other heads in their little bubble of conversation swiveled to him. In fact, heads almost across the room turned; and the subtle rapport of the space changed once again. A butterfly effect; even the conversations that continued were somehow drawn in. The Secretary of State was riled; probably frustrated from other failures in his political life; and here Erik was, making everything so much _worse_. Just by his very _being_. Of course, men like that didn't even think of themselves as racist, or anything else. They'd just decided that they were entitled to more, and they weren't getting it.  
"You cheated. I don't know how, but you tampered with the case. The one that actually made it to a verdict, that is. We both know the swing judge was going to find you guilty. Did Xavier get you off the hook?" he asked, ignoring Xavier now, addressing only Magneto. Charles' lip curled for just a moment; he couldn't help it.

Magneto just eyed him for a while, before he seemed to come to a conclusion.  
"Yes," he said. "I cheated."  
"You should be rotting in a prison somewhere," the Secretary of State snarled. "You should be--"  
"--That is _quite enough_ ," Charles said, emphatic, pulling more attention in. "Mr. Secretary, I believe you know exactly what bounds you're overstepping tonight."  
Only half of his focus was on the Secretary of State, though. The other half was obviously engaged in telepathic conversation with Lehnsherr.

* _Just once I'd like to get through one of these without a minor international incident,_ * Charles muttered in his head.  
* _You ask too much,_ * Erik said. * _Set a lower bar or find a less problematic life partner. And Emma wanted a misdirection act. It's this, or a dance._ *  
And they both knew the dance wasn't in the cards, not that the image of it didn't pull a very unwilling smile out of Charles. Emma did need a few minutes' commotion, she unhelpfully relayed.  
* _I don't know that the bar goes lower than--_ *

"Oh, please, Charles," Erik said out loud. "He's only upset I cheated better than he did."  
"What did you say?" the American asked, looking ready to throw a punch.  
"Better than you," Erik repeated slowly, as if indulging the cabinet member. "Your delegation bribed the judge. You admitted it, after all, with your we-both-know, nudge-wink bravado a minute ago. I simply cheated better, because you humans consistently underestimate me and my kind. And it just kills you to know that you should have tried harder to stop me, doesn't it? Just boils your blood that I was right there, in chains, _twice_ , and you let me slip through your fingers. And if you hadn't, maybe you'd be a tiny bit less irrelevant today. Then again..."  
"You fucking people and your egos," the Secretary said. "We'll get another chance at you."  
"And what _people_ would that be referring to? You arrested me at the bloody _Holocaust Museum_."

"Actually," the Secretary said, one hand in his pocket, smiling faux-pleasant, "I believe it was your own organization that apprehended you. The Brotherhood of Mutants."  
"And _I_ believe I've already made my feelings on this conversation clear," Charles said, turning away, knowing Erik would follow. Knowing the Secretary of State, keyed up, wouldn't be able to resist.  
"You don't get to give me the brush-off, Xavier--"  
"--And why not?" Charles asked, turning back. Erik grinned; the telepath was only barely showing it but he was angry, now. "Would you prefer I made a _scene_ , Jack? No, perhaps not. That would be a little too American, wouldn't it? I think you're going to call it a night, and if you have any further unsubstantiated criminal allegations you'd like to make against a foreign dignitary, I would recommend you pick a different country. One where the inhabitants are less... how did you so graciously put it? _Uncanny_. I can point a few out, on a map, if you'd like?"

"Your experiment isn't going to work," he said, after a moment of silence. "There's too much bad blood here. You've spent decades stoking hatred--"  
Charles laughed at that. He could feel a certain darkening from Erik at his side, but it did nothing to quell the distinct hot-under-the-collar reading he was getting. Charles collected himself, feeling Erik close in physically as well. A hand just a half-inch off his upper arm, like Erik was about to call his attention away, practically radiating heat.  
"Really, Mr. Secretary. I was told you were a _diplomat_ ," the telepath said, and dipped into the human's mind. Erik was gleeful at that.

To the cabinet member, Xavier's voice sounded... disappointed, somehow. It was like being told off by your favorite teacher, he supposed. Which, of course, made sense. His first instinct was to get defensive. _He started it_ , he thought. Obviously, he bit back on saying it, but that didn't matter. A knowing smile broke out under Cerebro, and the telepath's chin tilted perceptibly upwards. The terrorist in all white by his side wasn't even looking at him; he was watching Xavier's mouth for cues.

"And I was told you and your pet war criminal came in peace," he said, quite a few seconds too late.  
"For what might be the last time this evening, take it up with some other mutant. Erik and I are founders, not General-Admiral-Presidents for life."

They left on that note.

* _I hate when they talk about your trial like that. Casually. You turned yourself in, Erik. You could have mentioned as much._ *  
It was a weird sort of pain in Charles' chest, whenever people talked about Magneto like he was a monster. He'd grown so tired of that sensation; it was so much easier to avoid humans almost altogether lately. * _And miss out on you defending my honor?_ * Erik mocked. * _How did Emma like her distraction?_ *

Charles rolled his eyes. If Erik thought he was going to buy that he did all that just for the benefit of _Krakoa_...

* _She's very pleased, thank you, my dear. She's having her own little G8 summit upstairs, they're just wrapping up now._ *  
Which meant that they were off the hook, but couldn't leave yet. Two facts he was sure Erik was processing. Charles counted one... two... and..?  
* _There have to be some vacant rooms somewhere in this palace,_ * Erik insinuated. Charles grinned, and took stock as they left the ballroom for one of the arterial hallways.

Ororo was guarding Emma's room somewhere upstairs. Jean and Scott were dancing; Scott shot him a wry look, which Charles thought was rich, considering how many times he'd heard about the Summers family making a scene in the last week alone. Jean laughed, and conveyed Charles' sentiments. Scott, in turn, did that almost imperceptible head-roll gesture Charles knew meant an eyeroll on a mutant who could never have his eyes uncovered in public. He'd even adopted it a little himself, under the near-constant covering of Cerebro.

"Let them have their fun," Erik murmured, very close behind him, watching Charles' gaze. "Look at them; they're better than any propaganda Krakoa could cook up."  
Charles hummed, still watching them. They loitered at one of the side entrances to the main ballroom while things cooled down. Erik leaned against the wall behind him. "You just want to get away from the crowd," he accused lightly.  
Erik was watching him. Thinking back to the trial, now. Charles smiled under Cerebro.  
"Do you remember when it all went sideways, in the first trial? When the Strucker twins attacked?"

Charles nodded. Remember it? He could practically feel it.

"I was so weak from the Brood I had a heart attack, and you were so concerned with me you forgot to keep the twins separated. You saved me perhaps, what, three times in a row? Four? Very romantic, except for the part with the incestuous Nazi siblings trying to kill us."  
"You don't remember how many times?" Erik asked, poking a little fun. "I thought you were keeping a running tally."  
"Four," Charles said firmly. "I was blacking out in the water, in my defense. All I can remember were strong, bare arms, because _someone_ thought his bright magenta caped costume was appropriate attire for a war tribunal."

Erik put an arm against the wall over Charles' head. They both watched the ballroom "Come home with me," he said.  
God, it was tempting, Charles thought. "Thirty more minutes."  
"There's a perfectly functional guest room--"  
"--See, that's how people will peg you as a German," Charles said, amused. "All this talk of _functionality_."  
"The point still stands," Magneto said.  
"Does it?" Charles demurred, to which Erik afforded him a lofty eye roll.  
"That's how people will peg you for an Oxbridge twat," Erik muttered. "A terrible sense of humor."

"You did actually cheat," Charles said suddenly. "In fairness. You tampered with the judge's mind."  
"A mistake, I now know. But one you shared in. You got me off the first time."  
"You fled arrest," Charles countered.  
"And you gave me a head start. With your last strength. Couldn't bear to see me behind bars."  
"The children needed an adult, and Scott wasn't ready to step up yet."  
"You violated your ethical code for me," Erik said, as if that was somehow romantic. It was endearing, especially since there was nowhere he could go with it.

Magneto, of course, saw that thought and took it as a fucking challenge. He ran a hand up Charles' back, raising goosebumps at the back of his neck, which he then kissed. He handled Charles, put the man's back against the wall, trapped between it and a very amorous mutant master of magnetism.  
"You know every time you pull something like this I have to work so that they don't notice you, yes?" Charles pointed out.  
"I like you a little distracted," Magneto said. "And it's not like you're not strong enough. I could get on my knees right now and no one in the room would bat an eyelash."  
"As long as you're taking care of muffling whatever poor listening devices had to pick up on that bit of shamelessness," Charles replied, but Erik caught his shiver.  
"Which one of us is the Omega-level mutant, Charles?" Magneto asked, with a bit of put-upon chagrin. "I think I can handle a few bugs."

It was, Charles mused, quite like a lot of international diplomacy; in that really, underneath all the posturing, they were locked in an over-decorated game of chicken. And Charles was seriously considering calling Erik's challenge, knowing full well the other mutant wasn't bluffing.  
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? What was it he called me? The pet terrorist?"  
"Pet war criminal, actually," Charles corrected. "And again, legally? Not entirely wrong."  
Erik made a tsk-ing sound to show exactly how impressed he was with the insult.  
"Remind me to give Mystique more shit for that time she arrested me," Erik said.  
"Horrifically poor taste," Charles agreed. "Oh, thank God, there's Emma's signal."  
"She's done quicker than expected," Erik said, surprised. His eyes lingered on Charles.  
"Are you seriously disappointed that you didn't get the chance to--" Charles stopped himself, seeing Erik's disbelieving expression. Well, when you put it like _that_... "Never mind," he managed.  
"You could make it up to me," Erik insinuated.  
  
Charles eyed him steadily. He was trying to remember twenty minutes ago, when he considered himself rational and level-headed.  
"I think you're probably a bad influence," Charles said with a sort of finality.  
Magneto shrugged. "You're the one who implied the US Secretary of State couldn't find another country on a map. Remind me of _that_ later tonight, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Trial of Magneto heavily referenced, Uncanny X-Men issues #199 and 200, plus the SECOND trial of magneto also mentioned, which is sometime... uh... later.
> 
> Also first time I've referenced a non-X-Men Hickman thing and by referenced I mean I stole a line of dialogue from East of West


End file.
